Case Number: Jackal
by Virgins-and-Surgeons
Summary: You can call me Jackal, honey." The tapes regarding Arkham inmate Michael King, one more sicko in the throngs of Gotham's killers and madmen. Though if you ask him, he's sane, sexy, a woman, and his hobby of killing handsome men is totally normal.
1. Singh interview 1

Transcripts of Dr. Josiah Singh: CASE NUMBER JACKAL

Patient interview number: 1

April 5, 2008

**Beginning of session**

Today I am meeting with a new patient recently transferred to the Arkham institution. His name is Michael King, known outside of these walls as 'Jackal'. I see that this patient has achieved notoriety in Gotham, but is not overtly famous in any area not in his natural territory, his 'hunting grounds'. I see no inherit danger in him. I will leave this recorder on my desk, during the initial interview.

Patient description, for future references: hair colour brunette, hair length to mid-thigh, eye colour green, skin tone pale, thin frame, effeminate features. Looks too thin to be healthy; must advise for possible anorexia nervosa, bulimia, or other eating disorders. Height five foot four, weight one hundred pounds, reinforcing earlier eating disorder theories.

I haven't received a list of his crimes yet, but I am assured that he is dangerous and has killed. A hundred pound, sickly young man a killer? He's in his twenties. I do not see how he could be so overtly dangerous. I am sure they have made a mistake.

…I hear the door. That must be him. Ah, Michael. Come in, come in, and sit down. Guard, please shut the door; I think we will be fine here. How are you settling in here at Arkham?

_Well, I think I'm doing pretty well, doctor. Though the walls could use some colour, I don't see any reason why I should be unhappy._

**[There is chuckling]**

_I'm…um, fine, I guess._

That's good, that's good. Michael, please call me Dr. Singh; yes, pronounce it like 'sing'. Now, tell me about yourself.

_Oh, okay; what would you like to know, Dr. Singh?_

Well, how about how you're feeling right now? Are you hungry? Dinner is in an hour; if you are, then you'll be able to sate yourself soon. Are you tired, feeling ill?

_I'm feeling a bit hungry, sir, but nothing serious. I feel fine. The guards are a bit rough._

Yes, they are; some of them aren't very fond of the patients here. I'll see what I can do about them.

_No, no…you won't. But that's okay._

Hm…Michael, why do you think that?

_Think? That you won't do anything about it? No reason, doctor. You don't know their names, I, uh, don't know their names either. I'll probably never see them again._

**[Nervous laughter]**

_There's no reason to put up the effort, and I'm, er, sure you won't. But that's okay. I wouldn't either._

I see…Michael, tell me about your childhood.

_Um…why?_

Well, good portions of mental illness cases have roots in childhood experiences or stimuli, and so I thought that it'd be good to talk through your childhood.

_If you really want to know, then I grew up in the Narrows. We didn't have much, but it was a building with a roof. My mother, what would I have done without her? She was a beautiful woman. She kept good company. My father was a stern man, though not unwarranted. He taught me how to be a man, and he showed me what to do when I went wrong. I had a brother, and a sister. My sister, God bless her soul, stayed up all night with me sometimes. She was very affectionate. My brother was gone for most of my life; he's begun life in a much hotter place. Humid, they tell me._

You sound like you had a nice life.

_Oh, I did. My parents worked very hard to make sure their children grew up the right way._

And did you ever suffer any traumatic experiences?

_Oh, not really. Not anything I would consider…um, traumatic, anyway._

Good. Well, I think that that's enough for today. Goodbye, Michael, I'll see you later on.

_Goodbye, Dr. Singh; I'm, um, looking forward to it._

…

Michael King seems well adjusted enough, almost strikingly so; he is polite, though he's a bit nervous and slightly meek. When I speak with him, he has his hands folded in his lap, he smiles at me in a gentle sort of way, if not nervously, and he shows absolutely no signs of mental illness. I don't understand. He says his childhood is trauma-free, his family life was apparently nurturing enough, and so what caused whatever he's done?

I do not know. I will, however, get his file sometime tomorrow, and read through it closely.

**End of session**


	2. Singh interview 2

Transcripts of Josiah Singh: CASE NUMBER JACKAL

Patient interview number: 2

April 6, 2008

**Beginning of session**

I have read through Michael King's file, and have found many highly disturbing facts about his stories, the discussion about his family life. I am not sure if these distortions of reality were accidental, or if Michael has played me for a fool with word games.

It says here that Alison King, Michael's mother, was suspected of child abuse. There are records showing that his father, Arnold, was verbally abusive, in public and in private. His brother, Jon, was stillborn; he was born one year before Michael. His sister, Annie, seems to have been relatively normal.

**[Door opening]**

That's him right now.

**[Footsteps, closing door]**

Michael, good morning. And your day has been?

_Good, doctor. The food is kind of bland, but that's fine, I guess. I'm not one to complain._

I'm fine, Michael. I'd like to talk about your parents, and what you said yesterday.

_Okay. What would you like to talk about?_

You said your mother was…well, it says in my file that…

_Oh, her history? You've seen it, right?_

Yes. There says here that she was…abusive…

_Nothing bad, of course._

**[Nervous laughter]**

_Just a swat now and then, when we walked into her room at the wrong time. Or a couple swats. Maybe ten or fifteen if we…interrupted her work. Nothing too bad. It was our fault, anyway; we should've learned to knock, but you know kids._

Where did she 'swat' you?

_Um…you know. Face, the cheeks, arms, hands, legs, whatever was closest. Usually the face though; it stings worse to get slapped than to get smacked on the arm. Really, it wasn't anything too bad._

I see…she broke your sister's collarbone?

_Oh…um…I'm not…comfortable talking…about that. Can we…um…skip that?_

Of course, Michael. Tell me about your father.

_Father? He was…a man of good moral fiber. Tried to keep us on the straight-and-narrow. You know. He tried to keep me from running into…um, debauchery, I think he called it._

Debauchery? What did he mean by that?

_Um…subversive sexual things. Homosexuals. He didn't like them at all. Told me that 'faggots burn in hell, you'd better not be a faggot or you'll burn too', other...things._

**[Very shaky, nervous laughter, bordering hysterical]**

_It was fine, he was just trying to help me. Save my soul. Heh. You know. Those sorts…of things._

**[Laughter cuts short, very suddenly]**

_…May we skip this one, too?_

…Of course. In fact, I think that our time is up, Michael. I will see you tomorrow.

_Goodbye, Dr. Singh. Bye._

**[Footsteps, closing door]**

…I may have been wrong about Michael King. He seems to have deep-seated issues in his childhood; his very mellow, watered-down version of his childhood that he gave me yesterday seems to suggest that he's trying to take the trauma and make it…more normal. Where it's not traumatic at all, but normal. First, I think we will try to tackle his issues with family, and root out the main issues to try and treat them. The file on his crimes has been pushed back in delivery until tomorrow; it may sound wrong, but I am almost eager to see it.

**End of session**


	3. Singh interview 3

Transcripts of Josiah Singh: CASE NUMBER JACKAL

Patient interview number: 3

April 7, 2008

**Beginning of session**

Today, I requested that Michael have his tranquilizing medication cut back for the purpose of seeing how he is when he's not calmed as much as he is. I have yet to receive his criminal record; I'm considering taking it up with the asylum's director about this slowness. Crane is an imposing man, but it's very relevant to my sessions that I get this information as quickly as possible.

**[Door opening, footsteps]**

Michael, good to see you. How are you feeling today?

_I'm feeling…w-well. Very well. And how are you?_

Me? I'm…fine, Michael. You seem very…jittery. I recommended your medication dose be reduced for today, for-

_Seeing me w-without the drugs making me c-c-calmer? That's fi-ine._

I…see. I wanted to talk about your parents some mo-

_N-no, I'd rath-ther not. Not today. Please, can't we talk about…something else?_

Al…right. What would you like to talk with me about, Michael?

_Any-nything. Just not…them._

Very well then. Did you have any heroes as a child? People you looked up to?

_As a chuh-child? No. Narrows, the dirty, loud, smelly Narrows; hopes and dreams go there to d-die. I didn't have anything to look forward to, and tha-at's how it shuh-should be. It's buh-better that way._

Why do you say that, Michael? Aspirations are a very important part of a human's mind.

**[Scooting noise]**

Michael, please sit down. Don't pace; come and sit down.

_Why do you say thuh-that, Dr. Singh? Dreams are f-fragile things, you know; you have one, an-nd it's going to break. It-t's bound to get dropped and broken at one point or another. It nuh-never…never fails. They're too easy to shatter. Espe-especially for a child._

You had many broken dreams? Michael, calm down, you're stuttering horribly.

_Tuh-too many to count. 'I'm going to be a suh-superhero!' 'Nuh-no you're not, you little mor-moron; get your fuh-fucking head out of the c-clouds'. 'I'm going to be a duh-doctor!' 'You're too st-stupid to be a doctor, you noisy little ba-bastard'. 'I want to be an ac-actor!' 'You can't remember your fuh-fucking name, much less a script, re-retard'. Dreams dreams dreams, and they crack like glass._

Who told you all of these things? Guards, please call an orderly; tell them we need tranquilizers.

_Ev-eryone, a little bit from them all. I kept my distance from Muh-Mother, though; shuh- she was like a puh-pitbull when she became angry. Fuh-Fuh-Father, he was too stiff, too strict; he w-wanted me in the military, wanted me playing war in the vacant lot with the other buh-boys when I was learning to suh-sew. Did you know that he absolutely, positively couldn't stuh-stand how fuh-feminine little Muh-Michael was? He hated it. Threw my druh-drawings out when I told him I wanted to be an ar-artist. Took away my suh-sewing when I started to make little dre-dresses for my sister's old duh-dolls. Wrenched the crochet out of my huh-hands and shoved a Buh-Bible in them instead, and told me that fuh-faggots burn in H-Hell._

I see. How did that make you feel? What did you do? Michael, calm down; you're shaking. Guards!

_I-I was a vuh-very muh-meek boy, you see; yuh-you've seen. Whuh-when I was a child, I w-was l-like this; I di-didn't spuh-speak often, unless I whuh-was t-told to. I duh-didn't st-stutter unless I was v-very n-n-nervous. I whuh-was m-meek, so m-meek. I was afraid._

Michael, calm down, breathe; you're hyperventilating.

**[Door opening, shuffling, hurried speaking]**

Orderlies; restrain him; he's having a panic attack. Michael, they're going to give you a sedative, and they're going to put you unconscious. Calm down.

_H-help me-_

**[Yelp of surprise, heavy thudding, pained wheezing]**

_I c-can't breathe-_

Pin him to the ground; hold him down while you sedate him. Don't let him get loose; he could be dangerous! Michael, you're going under; don't fight it.

_Don't put me under, doctor! Don't!_

You've injected him? Give it a minute; he'll be settling down soon. Michael, I can't help it; you need to calm down. Don't take him off his medication again; it's too dangerous, to him and possibly me.

_Don't…_

**[Unintelligible, soft murmuring, then silence]**

…He's out. Take him to his cell, and make sure he gets his full dose of medication.

**[Dragging noise, shuffling, closing door]**

Ugh…it appears that Michael cannot function when he is forced to relive his childhood experiences. I think that we may eventually be able to crack his traumatic childhood experiences, but not until we make our way through to it, slowly. I've still yet to see this criminal file of his, though I'm about to raise a complaint if it doesn't arrive tomorrow. We will continue this tomorrow evening, at our next session.

**End of session**


	4. Singh interview 4

Transcripts of Josiah Singh: CASE NUMBER JACKAL

Patient interview number: 4

April 8, 2008

**Beginning of session**

I have received, finally, Michael's criminal file. It's safe to say that it's blown me away.

**[Rustling of paper]**

Twelve counts of homicide. Twelve. There's even a photo of him when he's in this alternate 'Jackal' persona of his; Michael is a natural brunette, but here, he's either wearing a wig or has dyed his hair, because the colour here is red. He seems to be wearing…lipstick, eye shadow, mascara, the full range of makeup. In a secondary photo, a body photo of Michael running, I can observe that he's wearing high heels, a long red-coloured women's coat, and possibly other female-oriented clothing. This is disturbing; it seems to hearken to a gender identity crisis, his sexuality; does Michael have a subconscious wish to be female?

**[Rustling of paper]**

He calls this persona 'Jackal', and his main killing tools were reportedly any sharp objects he had on or around him at the time. When they caught him…well, more or less when they chased him across a roof, where he made a leap across rooftops towards a fire escape ladder and the ladder broke under him, sending him hurtling to the alleyway below where he was apprehended, they tracked his path back to a nearby kill and a woman that was almost the second kill. They found on his person a pair of scissors with very long blades, bloodied.

**[Rustling of paper]**

It's widely assumed that he was able to get so far in his crime spree because of his agility, speed, intimate knowledge of the section of the Narrows that he operated in, and his modus operandi, which included cutting the throat to destroy the vocal cords and make it impossible for his victims to scream while he tortured them. By cutting their throats, he ensured that his crimes were rapid, and that he would be long gone from the scene before the person was even noticed to be missing. There's an audiotape of his police interview immediately after his capture, but anyone listening won't be able to make out what it is saying so I will not play it.

**[Footsteps]**

He's arrived.

**[Door, footsteps]**

Michael, how are you feeling today?

_I'm fine, Dr. Singh. Better._

Good…Michael, why don't we talk about Jackal?

_Jackal? I'm Jackal._

No…no, Michael, your name is Michael King. Jackal isn't all that makes you up.

_Oh…I suppose if you think so._

You don't believe me, do you?

_No. Not at all._

Why not, Michael?

_Because you don't know how it makes me feel. I love being the Jackal. You…have no idea how it free it makes me feel._

Michael, are you cold? You're…shivering.

_Yes, yes. I know that. I just can't help it when I think about them…all the carmine coating their faces…_

**[Soft, breathy sigh]**

_It's a feeling without compare. You…you'll never understand me, never understand what I mean when I say this, but…well, the only thing I can compare it to, is sex. That's the satisfaction, the fulfillment that I feel when I kill them. It's gorgeous, and gorgeousity made flesh._

You enjoy taking life to that extent?

**[Sighing ceases, cuts off suddenly]**

_…I told you that you wouldn't understand. Nobody ever does. There's a satisfaction in taking life that only murderers know. You doctors…you'll never understand us. The most you can do…is just give us the drugs and hope that fixes us. But it won't. It never…never will…_

**[Moment of hesitation, before soft speaking]**

Why…won't it, Michael?

**[Moment of silence, before very soft speech]**

_Because…we're in Gotham. This city breeds killers like bluebloods breed racehorses._

**[Shuffling]**

_Dr. Singh…there isn't anybody to protect you. The police couldn't catch me until I murdered twelve people…twelve lives snuffed out so easily, twelve circles of parents…siblings…children…friends…lovers…spouses…snuffed out. Gone. Forever. And honey, it was so easy to do. If that ladder hadn't broken…I could've, and would've gone on. I could've killed you, if your luck had been bad enough. Do you have a wife, Dr. Singh? Chil-dren?_

That's enough. Guards, take him away. We're done for today.

**[Heavy footsteps]**

_Doctor, you know that I'm right. Gotham created me. And it'll create so many others even worse than I am._

**[Shutting door, deep exhausted sigh]**

He's getting to me; I never know when he's going to be Michael, or when he's going to be…Jackal. I have to keep my wits about me when we're having our sessions; I need to keep myself from getting stuck in his web. If I let him draw me in, he'll rip me to shreds, I know he will. Tomorrow I will be prepared for whatever assault he's going to try on my control, and keep him from taking this interview away from me, as he is apparently wont to do.

**End of session**


	5. Singh interview 5

Transcripts of Josiah Singh: CASE NUMBER JACKAL

Patient interview number: 5

April 9, 2008

**Beginning of session**

I am prepared for Michael…or the Jackal…today. He did test my willpower yesterday, but not today. Here he is.

**[Opening door, footsteps]**

_Hello, doctor. How is your morning?_

Fine, Michael.

_You seem tense. Why?_

Michael, this is my session. I am asking the questions.

_No need to…to snap at me, d-doctor._

**[Moment of silence, before an exhausted sigh]**

…It's fine, Michael. Let's just begin. Tell me about your past. We have your criminal record. You've been charged with…prostitution?

**[Slow, exhausted sigh, followed by a moment of silence]**

_I couldn't live with my father for too long. Through childhood, yes, because he thought he could 'fix' me. But by the time I turned fifteen, I was as…well, as feminine as femininity comes, to put it bluntly. I didn't date girls. I preferred to stay home and do crafts, sew, crochet, cook, things like that. Feminine things. So when he realized that he couldn't fix me, he decided that I wasn't his son anymore. He threw me out with no money, no home, into the streets. And…well, when you're a poor teenager, there's not much you can do._

**[Shuffling noise]**

_I looked enough like a woman. There are…things…that you can do and keep the veil of the female gender up. I usually stuck to those. Dressed like a woman. Acted like a woman. Jackie, I went by the name Jackie. Some of them were even glad when I had to tell them that I wasn't a woman. They preferred a teenage boy, and they weren't women. I did get arrested, eventually, and they put me in a foster home when they found out that my parents didn't want me back._

And after that?

_Well, when I turned eighteen, I got a job in a strip club. The manager didn't care if I was actually male; I looked like a woman, so if I just wore skimpy things, but never took them off, it was the same difference._

**[Soft giggling]**

_I'm very good with the pole. Dancing around it, I mean. Very acrobatic. That's how I became agile enough to avoid the police for so long. I've been a drag queen for years._

That sounds like a hard childhood.

_…I hate it when you people pity me._

What?

**[Chair scooting, footsteps]**

_I do. You all look at me with your dewy eyes, and you all say, 'You poor thing, poor child, poor baby, you had to do all these horrible demeaning things like wear women's clothes and pretend you were a woman. I feel so bad for you'. But I'm not ashamed. I'm proud of that time. When the other boys in the same situation were selling crack on the street corners, going to prison for half of their miserable lives, I was out there, making a living._

Michael, sit back down. Don't come any closer.

_Why not? Am I a dirty whore to you now? A dirty, filthy slut. I am, aren't I? Well, I'll tell you something; my touch isn't diseased. I'm just as good as anyone else you'll find on the streets. I'm worth just as much as any female prostitute you've seen walking the streets, and I'm not hooked on meth and losing all my teeth, or shooting heroin, or having to fuck a drug dealer with more diseases than you can count on one hand to get my fix. Or are you just afraid of me? Do you fear me, Dr. Singh?_

Guards!

_I don't think so, Dr. Singh; the doors are locked with the keys I've snatched from a guard's pocket when he thought it would be all right to leave poor, despondent Michael King as he turned his back. We have time. Come here._

Guards!! Get him out of here, someone get him!!

**[Rapid footsteps, running, screams and laughter all overlaid on one another]**

**[Crashing noise, tape ends abruptly]**


	6. Jackal interview 1

Transcripts of Jackal: CASE NUMBER SINGH

Patient interview number: 1

April 9, 2008

**Beginning of session**

_Doctor Singh is feeling a bit under the weather right now. But his good friend, Jackal, is here to help him talk through his feelings. Aren't I, Josiah?_

Away, get away-

**[Sound of striking, small pained cry, silence]**

_Honey, learn to shut up. Anywho, dear, let's talk about your family for once, instead of just mine. Do you have a wife? Daughter? Son? Tell Mama Jackal._

W-wife…daughter…

_Lovely! Are they beautiful, Josiah?_

…Yes…

_I bet they are. You're a handsome man. Did you know that I lie to you in our sessions?_

What?

_Yes, yes I do. I lied to you about why my father threw me out. Do you want to know the real reason he did? Of course you do._

**[Pacing footsteps]**

_Well, on a whim, one day I tried on my sister's clothes. I also lied to you about my sister, Dr. Singh. I said she was affectionate. She was…very affectionate. From a young age, she loved her little Michael very much. Too much. She didn't love me; she was in love with me. I think the way she liked to…well, let's just say 'use' me and leave it at that. Your imagination can fulfill what my words can't; use it to fill in those blank spots. Anyway, the way she used me might have been what made me not like women._

**[Angry, disgusted sigh]**

_Women disgust me. I think their bodies are vile; the sight of the nude female form in the flesh makes me nauseous._

**[Pacing stops, followed by an airy sigh]**

_But statues, marble statues of Greek or Roman carving…those bodies I could stand. I wanted to have those bodies; they were gorgeous, don't you see? Real women's bodies are disproportionate, too soft, and too…fragile. I should know!_

[**Laughter**]

_Ah…but marble flesh is without imperfection. Can't be destroyed, marred by a knife's edge. At least, not easily. I worked to model myself after those statues. A male Aphrodite. But…_

**[disappointed sigh]**

_Not everyone was so enamored by my goals. I began wearing my sister's clothes in secret. Trying on her makeup. I love red lipstick, loved to leave lipstick kisses all over the mirror. My mother would snap at my sister for kissing everything. Would hit her. She never admitted to doing it, and nobody even dare suspect Michael. He's not that sick in the head, is he? Of course not._

**[Footsteps stop a second time, very suddenly]**

_And one day, my father walks in to see me in lingerie. My mother's. He's enraged. Sickened. He hits me; the first time that he's ever done this to me. He calls me all sorts of horrible names, things I dare not taint my dainty tongue with to repeat. He throws me out, then and there, in women's underwear and smeared lipstick. Tells me never to come back. And I don't._

**[Footsteps start again, quick; predatory]**

_Dr. Singh, they all…well, all of you psychiatrist types, tell me that you can help me. But when I try to tell you, about me, about what I've done, you shrink away and extend not a helping hand, but pills instead. I don't like your type. I don't want your help any more. I don't need you. I don't need your idea of 'sanity'. I'm not insane. I just hate a little too much for my own good. But…oh, there are things that I love. And they're sharp things._

Get away, Michael…

_Oh there there, don't cry. Here, I'll sit with you, honey, and we can comfort one another._

**[Movement noise, followed by defeated whimpers and soft shushing]**

_There there…do you want to know the secret to life? There's a trick. Would you like to know it?_

Y…

_The trick, honey, is to keep breathing._

**[Soft cooing, whispering, followed by the noise of the door slamming open]**

Get away from him, Jackal! On the floor! We found him! Get on the fucking floor!

_I'm sorry, Dr. Singh, but it looks like our time has come. I hope to see you again, honey._

On the floor!

_Note to self…must find a better way to keep the millicents out for a bit longer. They have a love of interrupting my work._

**[Pained yelp, stomping noise, shouting]**

Dr. Singh? Dr. Singh, are you all right?

**[Unintelligible whimpering]**

Get someone in here! And get that freak the hell out of here! Shove him in solitary!

_Bye-bye, Dr. Singh…_

Is someone coming for Singh? Oh hell, what the fuck did he do to him? Hey, turn off that fucking tape recorder.

**[Tape cuts off suddenly]**

**End of session**


	7. Testament 1

_Hello, hello. These are the tapes of Jackal King, though it can just be Jackal to you, dahling. I've smuggled this tape from the good doctor Singh's office; I don't think he'll need it, since he's still in therapy and all. I was sure the dear guards would've found it, but security isn't what it used to be. I remember when you couldn't smuggle in so much as a toothpick without it being found. Ah, but the days of a good old cavity search are gone, I suppose. Shame._

_In any case, I have a tape and I have enough time here to chatter on and on to it, and the guards will just think I'm talking to myself. Everyone else does nowadays. But of course old Jackal talks to himself; he's cah-ray-zee. Cray-zee people prattle on and on to themselves for someone to talk to. But to talk to yourself, you need a voice that'll listen to you. I don't hear any voices but my own, and so I guess that I'm just out of luck there. I'm barely even interested in what I have to say; I don't think I'd be able to survive talking to myself. I'd die of boredom, I would._

_Did you know, listeners, that after the good doctor Singh checked out, a new doctor decided to check in? I specifically requested not to have a woman treat me, because despite loving their forms, I absolutely despise women as human beings, and what do they do? They give me a woman doctor. This is going to be dreadful. I hope she doesn't touch me, though I'm sure that they're not allowed to touch patients. Shameless little bitches!_

_I don't like women. I don't like them at all. They don't appreciate what they have! Female whores get so much more business then we boys on the streets. They aren't looked down on for being attracted to men. They can even have children. I'm a woman at heart, I really am; I've always wanted children. But I'm most assuredly not doing something so disgusting as having sex with a woman just to get that child; I'd have to kill the woman afterwards and whisk away the baby for my own. I would most likely kill the woman before I could even get through the courting process._

_I dislike women greatly. You can guess that by now, can't you? I hope you can. I wouldn't want to be lecturing a chorus of idiots, would I?_

_Sometimes, I wonder if the doctors ever believe me when I tell my stories. I tell them that my daddy beat me. That my momma was a whore. That my sister touched me in my no-no places from a young age. Do they ever wonder if I'm just…lying? I don't quite remember myself when I became evil. It just seems like I always was. A misguided youth that became a killer. One sob story from millions._

_Gotham's youth: strychnine children._

_Do they ever doubt me? Do they ever see the quivering Michael King and wonder, 'Is that boy a liar?' Of course they don't. Appearances can be and are incredibly deceiving. I can't remember the day I turned evil, but I think I always was and just didn't notice it for a little while. I don't remember my past too well anymore, if we're being totally honest. Sometimes daddy was a wifebeater. Sometimes momma poisoned daddy for the insurance money. I don't know anymore. I've told so many lies that the truth is…gone. I don't recall who did what to me, or if anyone did anything at all. But do you know what?_

_I think I was just born evil. Doctors, when you tell them that, oh they won't believe a word you say if you say that. But it's the honest-to-God truth. They ask me why I kill, and then they tell me I'm wrong when I say I do it because it's fun. They tell me that I'm sick. That it's a mental condition that makes me have to kill women and men and children and…well, anything. They tell me I don't know myself like they know me. I know myself well, thankyouverymuch, and I know that I like the feeling of blood in between my fingers (though that makes holding the knife difficult sometimes, best to wear gloves when you want to finish quickly). I know that's not because I'm 'sick'. It's because I'm a goddamn sadist._

_Forgive the language. I do become riled up on occasion, but it passes quickly. Most of the time, that is. To get to the point, I know myself, and I know that I'm not sick. Nobody believes me, but that doesn't really matter; I like Arkham. The ambiance is simply stunning. It takes a strong sort of sane person to live in this asylum, listening to mad chanting and screams night after night, and hold onto their sanity. I'm quite at home here. It would be almost a shame for me to leave. I don't want to leave. Have absolutely no reason to go. There's no overarching goal for me to accomplish, there's no heartbroken lover waiting outside these walls. There's just Jackal, all by his lonesome, enjoying this quaint little getaway._

_Well I have to be going; the guards should be coming around again for me to talk to my new therapist. She's some bright new girl here that finds the madmen a bit magical. Oh, the poor girl. Madmen aren't romantic figures, we're not your Lestat in a padded cell or your Casanova in a straightjacket; we drool and spit and giggle and urinate on ourselves. Well, not me; that's disgusting, and proper young women like me don't do such nasty things. I mean the crazier ones. We're not mystical or enamored. We're madmen._

_Time to be Michael King again, I suppose. Toodles, my dear listeners, my babies._

**End of session**


	8. Testament 2

_Well, the new girl didn't last long at all. One week with me and she transfers me out of her care. Dis-a-ppointing! I was hoping on tearing this girl apart. She gave up too easily. This, dear listeners, is another reason why women aren't worth dirt on your boots. They're too damn fragile. Ahem. They're too fragile. Porcelain women. They're like me. I would make such a good woman. Better than anything you'd see here._

_Prisoners are disappearing lately. Some come back crazier than usual. Terrified of every living thing, and terrified of inanimate objects. Ugh, it's dreadful! The screams are interfering with my beauty sleep. I haven't a clue if I'm going to be subjected to whatever is happening with my dear blockmates, but I really hope not. They look rather crazed, and they neglect their hygiene, and that's just shameful. I would die if I couldn't take care of myself to be as gorgeous as I am; I would just die!_

_The guards have taken a few from my cellblock. Gibbering messes, now. I do hope that if it happens to me, I'm resilient enough to at least remember to brush my teeth correctly. I'm still in isolation, unfortunately enough; they really don't like me putting the therapists into therapy. If they'd give me some real doctors, then maybe we'd get somewhere! Pff._

_Last night I had a dream, my listeners. In it, I was walking the streets again, and it was very cold. I remember I was shot dead in an alleyway, and some mugger spat on me and growled 'faggot' down at me while I bled out. It was no good. I woke up and at breakfast, when someone said 'move it faggot', I just…well…_

_Snapped._

_Our dear homophobe friend is now in the intensive care unit, courtesy of your dear friend Jackal and a basket of boiling hot grease. Rorschach would be so proud of your dearest narrator. Actually, he would probably have to strangle me, because I'd be all over the man. Now you don't see real men like that anymore! They're all cowards or crazies; there are no rugged heroes except in the movies. Do you all ever wish there were? I know I do._

**_[Sighing]_**

_Ah, I wish I could find my grizzled hero. He might not reciprocate my feelings, but that's quite alright. I'll just pull him to pieces and love each and every separate piece equally._

_Well, it's time for me to go. I think the guards will be taking me to yet another two-bit doctor wannabe who thinks that they can fix Michael King. Toodles, babies._

**_End session_**


	9. Testament 3

_I'm so excited!_

_I met my new doctor today. Apparently, I'm gaining a bit of notoriety within this quaint little asylum I call home. Today I met with the good doctor Crane. He asked a few questions about why I'm driving away all of his doctors. The man is just gorgeous! A bit too cold for me, but I'll warm him up, if I get the chance. He wasn't quite…happy with the flirting I was doing, though. Cold man. But his eyes! A boy like me could just die for his eyes. I would die to have those eyes. Mine are just green. Lovely enough, but not like the good doctor Crane's._

_Ah, I've gotten off track. As I was saying, he asked me why I was chasing away all his doctors. I said that he needed more resilient ones that didn't put so much trust in a pretty face and a quiet voice. He nodded! If you could've seen me then, my babies! I was positively blushing. He didn't like that either, but didn't say anything so he wouldn't have to risk an answer from me. Then he looked at the door to make sure it was closed, for some reason, and then asked me if I wanted to see something of his, something in his briefcase apparently. I said yes, wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying because I was a bit distracted by that pretty boyish face of his, and he was reaching into his briefcase when that damnable secretary buzzed him and said that someone needed him. Damn that bitch!_

_Crane said that we'd have to talk about it later. I was very disappointed. But I do get to talk with him later, which means I get to see him again! Oh, I wonder what I should wear? Orange Arkham jumpsuit, or the orange Arkham jumpsuit with blood on it? Nasty shanking incident I was involved with there; I was the aggressor, unsurprisingly. Isolation again. I might as well live in the isolation room, which I do. But I do wonder what Dr. Crane wanted to show me? I suppose I'll find out later on. I hope he and I can get to know one another better; all girls love the assholes that treat them wrong, and I'm no different. Crane is the coldest of the cold, but he's so cute!_

_Even if he doesn't want to get together with me, I can always keep those lovely eyes of his. Maybe only one, if I still fancy him by the time I fall for another pretty face and decide that Crane is old news. Crane can still get around with just one eye; two is just greedy. I mean, I would be scandalized if I lost an eye, but it's different. I'm a woman, and women have to be beautiful. Shameless whores! We have to be shameless whores. Gorgeous shameless whores, but nonetheless, shameless whores._

_Still, Jonathan should be happy that I'm being so generous! When I decide he's last year's model, I'll just pull out one eye and keep it for myself. If he starts being too much of a bother to deal with, though, I'll just take both of them as payment for whatever trouble he's given me. But until then, Jonny Crane is the only one for me. Until then. Goodnight, babies; the guards are becoming more militant in their patrolling, and I would just die if I lost this little tape. It's become a good companion for me. Goodnight!_


End file.
